


What Dwells in the Depths

by duraznero



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, F/M, Lucio stayed with the Scourge, Monster!MC/Apprentice, Sea Monsters, Sirens, inspired by Germanic folklore of water spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29298150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duraznero/pseuds/duraznero
Summary: Montag Morgasson and Morga Eirsdottir go on a fishing trip. Their first catch is no fish at all.
Relationships: Lucio (The Arcana)/Original Character(s), Lucio (The Arcana)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	What Dwells in the Depths

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of this was inspired by thinking a little too much about Germanic folklore but also going "hey, y'know what's a dope concept? Deep-sea mermaids.", thinking that in a Monster AU my OC Ximena would *definitely* be one, and since Ximena's main canon LI is Lucio, there we go. 
> 
> The fish her entire get-up is mostly inspired by is the Pacific Viperfish.
> 
> As for the timeline, Lucio/Montag is around his early twenties, since in this story he never left the Scourge to begin with.
> 
> Enjoy this little piece, I surely did enjoy writing it. <3

“So, when is a fish gonna bite?”

“Shh, Monty.”

“Ma, they’re _fish_. They don’t hear shit.”

Morga snorted without turning her gaze away from the rippling surface of the water. She held her spear at the ready, the second something would move she would give the final strike. But Montag… _he_ wouldn’t, she got that only by looking at him. His posture was lax, he was not paying the proper attention and if it were up to him, the prey should just impale itself on his weapon, lying down at his feet blinded by his brilliance. 

“Focus. Don’t let your guard down.”

“Pfft. Fish are an easy catch, nothing compared to actual game.”

“ _Shh_.”

Monty frowned, his mouth forming a childish pout. Morga motioned her son to point his spear at a point and it was then when something stirred in the waters, deep in the dark but they could both see it.

Montag grinned as he tightened the grip on his spear and squeezed an eye shut. “I got this, Ma. Got a feeling that’s a big one.”

They waited for exactly forty-five heartbeats when the water stirred again, this time closer to the surface.

“Not yet.” Morga hissed. She was tense as a bowstring, in case Montag would screw it up, she’d be here to attack as well. There was no way the prey would be able to escape her.

Another thirty-seven heartbeats passed and then! _Something_ came to the surface, its curiosity being its demise. Montag stabbed down at the fish, and mere seconds after, not even waiting to see whether he hit on target, Morga did as well.

She frowned when her spear met only little resistance, but Montag gave out a joyous cry.

“Ma, I got it! I caught it- _oof_ , shit!” Her son shrieked as he was pulled forward and almost stumbled into the water. Morga managed to get a hold of him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Don’t let go, boy! You’re stronger than a fish!”

Montag roared as they took a step back in synchronization, but the struggle continued. Just when Morga decided to try it again with her own weapon, they gained footing over their prey and they stumbled backward when the catch got pulled out of the water and flopped onto the ledge of the river. 

It was _big_ , a mighty specimen, roughly the size of an adolescent, with a tail so black it seemed to absorb the light of the few patches of snow around it.

That is where all the similarities they had to be a very big fish ended.

“By the Serpent,” Monty whispered, and even Morga didn’t react at first. Her eyes met the large golden ones of the creature, a face that was eerily similar to that of a human… but the eyes had no pupil, they had no nose but rather ridges between their eyes and above their mouth that was full of sharp teeth bared at her. The human-like face was of a warm brown as was the rest of their naked torso that ended beneath where the waist would be and became the shiny black fishtail. Long black appendages that grew from their head that would look like hair if it weren’t for the glowing bulbs at the tips, for more than a cubit and clung to the wet body, but still, Morga spotted the gill slits on each side of the neck. A webbed hand with long clawed fingers was pressed on a gashing wound in their shoulder, the other digging into the mossy ground. 

The creature hissed and Morga was quick as lightning - she was upon her in an instant. She pulled out a dagger, kneeled onto the creature’s chest, and pressed it against her throat.

“Vile _näck_ , you will pay for trespassing in our lands.”

The water spirit trashed underneath her, hissing and making attempts at slashing at her with its clawed hands, but Montag was quick to grab their arm and hold it down.

The _näck_ shrieked when Morga took the dagger off their throat and pressed the handle into the gushing wound, throwing their head from side to side. 

Garbled words left their mouth in a tongue Morga didn't understand and she frankly didn’t care. The Scourge - _she_ \- had a deal with Vlagnagog; to keep their territory free from the creatures that could bring harm to them. The _jerffs_ , the _Askafroa,_ and also the _näcks_ that dwelled in the deep and loved to lure young adults into the water with songs and promises of teaching them how to swim before they’d pull them into the fjords where they drowned miserably. 

This _näck_ had not sung, nor did they look like how her mother Eir had told her they looked like but that didn’t matter.

If a _näck_ scout had ventured into the lands of the humans, it meant their chieftain had gotten brave. This individual would be a valid prisoner, they would interrogate them to find out where the others were, and once they knew their location, Morga would speak to Vlagnagog again. The wyrm was powerful enough to eradicate the threat all by itself. 

“We're taking them to the village. On the full moon, there will be a sacrifice and the Serpent will feast on their flesh and blood.”

The _näck_ screeched feebly, their movements slightly weaker than before. 

“Huh? Shouldn't we kill them?” Montag picked up the bloody spear and pointed it at the _näck_ 's face who responded with a snarl.

The wound Montag had given them bloomed fiercely like a flower but the Serpent wouldn't accept a rotten corpse, and just a couple of nights ago the moon had been full, and only then the Scourge were able to summon him to the worldly realm of mortals. 

“Get the rope to tie the hands together, make a gag too. You don't wanna be bitten or scratched, might be poisonous.” She instructed Monty. 

“So fishing trip's over?” 

“Yes, and if we encounter any game on the way to the village, we bring that home. We need to take care of the wound before it gets worse, keep them healthy until the healers can. A _näck_ hostage is very useful, Monty, keep that in mind.”

  
  


Whatever creed of merfolk this one came from, they didn't speak any human tongue. After Montag had tied her hands together and the _näck_ had stopped trashing, Morga asked where they came from and where their chieftain was but judging from the look of it, they didn't understand a single word she had said. 

That left them at nothing and so they started their journey back home, three days and a night they were away from the village, and in all of that time, the _näck_ didn't speak a single word. 

What did happen was their wound worsening and starting to smell like rotten fish. At first, she ignored the pleading looks from the creature and shook her head when Montag motioned to remove the gag, but when on the third night the _näck_ wouldn't stop thrashing, she freed them from the restraints that tied their hands together.

They scratched weakly on their fin, which looked less shiny than on the day that they had caught the _näck_ , and pulled off several black scales to which a dark red goo clung to. Both scales and goo were pressed on the wound and the _näck_ took a deep breath in relief judging by how their gill slit opened slowly.

“Ew.” Montag was not asleep apparently because he was watching them as he sat leaning against the trunk of a spruce. “You always said the _näcks_ lured youths to the water with their laughter, could hypnotize them with their eyes and had a voice like a song, but the only thing I see that one doing is eating someone. They can't even talk.” He seemed slightly disappointed.

“Had they met you in their element and had I not been there, they would've tried that. They're very adept shapeshifters when they want to, and they know how to wrap gullible minds around their fingers.”

When Morga woke up the next morning, the wound had stopped oozing ichor. 

  
  


To say that the village was nervously agitated at their arrival was an understatement. Only the bravest hunters dared to take a peek at the _näck,_ all the others were too afraid of falling under their spell - a senseless fear, as Morga was convinced by now that there was nothing dangerous about this one as everyone had seen their true form and any shape-shifting to a more human form would be obvious. 

Lutz had filled a wooden tub with cold water where they placed the creature in and within two days the dull color of the tail had regained some of its shimmering black colors that seemed to absorb the light and the scales that they had previously been able to pull out with ease were fixed once again - and yet, the color of the torso, the part of them that looked the most human still had a grey tinge to it. 

“Until the full moon, it is a long time,” Lutz said one evening as they sat in her hall one evening, Morga cross-legged in her chair, her consort warming himself by the fire. “If they die-”

“We can't allow that.” She gave him a sharp look and he shrunk in on himself. “When Monty and I pulled them out of the water, they reeked of magic I had not yet encountered. I mean, they were on the verge of death… and then healed themself with this goo from their own scales. They _must_ be valuable to the _näck_ and giving them to the Serpent will surely bring us a great gift.”

“Are you sure it _is_ a _näck_ at all? I thought they turned into salmons… or trouts. This one… they don't even look as if they’re from this realm at all.”

“They look _ancient_ , that's what it is. Who knows what merfolk dwell in the deepest darkest waters?”

“But if they’re not from around here… if they come from the open sea…”

“They all come from the open sea, Lutz. The sea is vast but it is the same sea everywhere.”

  
...

Montag wrinkled his nose. When he had wished there to be other duties besides cleaning weapons, hunting ptarmigans, and being on guard shift, he didn't want to be a _näck_ 's caretaker. The creature smelt of salt and fish, the way the appendages on their head twitched never failed to creep him out, and that they made for miserable company was, without doubt, the worst aspect. When they had put them in the tub, both Ma and Pa had come to the conclusion that it was useless to keep them bound and gagged because they weren't able to escape anyway, both due to the lack of legs and as they were still weakened from having healed the wound. They still refused any food that had been roasted before and seemed downright disgusted when having to chew on dried meat, but whatever they probably ate in the sea, there was none of that here. 

When they weren’t eating or sleeping, they seemed deep in thought but whenever someone spoke and their words could be heard, they shifted ever so slightly as if to eavesdrop on them. 

They were doing that now too while Montag himself was daydreaming about what he always daydreamt of: the day he would become leader of the Scourge. 

A self-sufficient grin on his face, he laid on his back as he stared on the ceiling. In his mind's eye, he saw his mother put a crown upon his head, taking back her words of how he still needed to learn a lot, and how he led the Scourge warriors into battle, having successful raids and-

A splash of water took him out of his fantasy. He propped himself up on his arm and grinned when he found the _näck_ observing him.

“Like what you see?”

He didn't expect any reaction, after all they couldn't understand him so it came as a surprise when they rolled their eyes until only the black sclera was visible and turned around to lay on their back again.

“Wait! You _can_ understand what I say?”

No vocal response, but the creature tilted their head, one of their hair-like appendages twitching. Montag shivered and dropped the matter. He didn't see the _näck_ 's eyes glinting with amusement. 

  
  


It was the early morning of the following day when Montag brought a piece of dried musk ox meat when he first heard a sound from the creature that wasn't a screech or hiss.

“Old meat.”

He was so surprised by the sudden words that he dropped the handful of food he was holding.

“You can _speak_.” He said it like a statement, not a question. They looked human enough that it shouldn’t surprise him but still, it did. The voice was… not unpleasant to listen to, but not as enchanting and charming as Morga had said the _näcks’_ voices were.

“Fresh is better.” They bared their teeth in disgust at the meat. 

“ _You can speak?_ ”

They looked at him, the golden eyes fixing him on the spot.

“Human tongue is ugly and difficult to produce- but yes. I need to listen a lot to how your kind speaks. My kind speaks differently.”

“The _näck_?”

The appendages twitched. “The one with you keeps on calling me that. It's not what I am. I met those your leader calls _näck_ and they were very different.”

He straightened his back and tried to not show his uncertainty.

“What is your kind? And how do you… err, talk?”

The… well, _not_ - _näck_ let out a sigh. It was a surprisingly human sound and Montag realized he had actually not heard them make a sound ever since they had begun with healing themself.

“There is no word in your tongue for what we call ourselves… but your _näck_ called me a ‘daughter of the abyss’. We talk to others in their heads. You talk a lot. It is good, I learned much just by hearing you.“

Montag's head was spinning and he felt how he started to sweat but tried to at least give the impression of being calm.

„What’s your name? If you have one in the human tongue that is.”

“I do. Cabal'na'vedra'me’Rubasaa'xi.”

Now _that_ was a name. Montag let out a low whistle. “Does everyone call you that? It’s really long.” He would never be able to repeat that.

Again the "hair" twitched. Montag was starting to suspect they did so to reflect her emotions.

“Only strangers and commoners do so. My core name is Naméchi. And your family calls you… Monty.” 

Montag felt blood flush his face. “Only my parents call me Monty. My real name is Montag Morgasson.“

„… then I like your core name more. Your father is… Lutz, and your,“ at this part she hissed almost involuntarily, „leader is Morga.”

“My mother.”

“Mothers tend to be leaders.”

His mother was the Leader of the Scourge, just like her mother before her had been. Montag frowned as he took a bite of dried meat. 

“Why didn’t you speak before?”

“Will you tell everyone?”

He blinked. Naméchi regarded him with open curiosity. In a way, he felt that she had been watching him just as often as he had looked at her. If he was as strange a creature as she was to him? He had never even seen a fish similar to whatever she was supposed to be.

Montag thought about how Morga would react to the news. Just when things have gotten interesting with his prisoner he would probably go back to polishing spears, daggers, and skinning rabbits. He shook his head.

The tips of the appendages glowed up briefly and then went dark again.

  
...

“Tell me about the humans here.”

Montag propped himself up on his elbows.

“Why?”

“Because I know you want to talk. And if you want me to answer, I need to learn more words.”

He tilted his head. He didn’t understand how she could absorb information like that and so quickly, he could only speak Scourge and the thought of learning another would surely take ages - his father had told him he still didn’t understand every word of the Common Tongue. 

“Is that how you could learn every language in the world? Just by hearing people talk?”

Naméchi’s appendages curled and then slowly relaxed. “I think so. I need to get a feeling for them.”

“Why do they-” Montag made a gesture next to his temple to sign a hair, “-do that?”

“My…” She hesitated and then shook her head. “They help me catch fish and squid in the dark. These creatures love the light and we use that against them.”

“So you’re hunters?”

“Yes, sometimes. Does your kind usually hunt for merfolk?”

Montag felt his face heat up furiously. “No! We’re not scared of the _näck_ , we _are_ the most fearsome tribe in the South after all, but we avoid them. They are cunning and not trustworthy. They lure the unwitting to the river and drown them.”

Naméchi’s brow ridges furrowed. “Their leader said they feel threatened by a creature your leader used to summon to hunt them. They said your people deserve it.”

Montag waved away her concerns and yet he felt a bead of sweat run down his forehead. “Ah, I don’t know about that, I guess! I suppose your people occasionally drag the odd human into the depths, or?”

Naméchi watched him, then shook her head. 

“While the sun is up we don’t go to the surface - only at night. The light hurts our eyes and we cannot hunt fish when they can see us. How do you hunt? With those horrible sticks?”

Montag let out a nervous laugh. “With spears, yes. I guess you don’t like them since it hurt you pretty badly.” 

Naméchi’s taloned hand unconsciously covered her injury. “ _You_ did that.”

“Err…” Montag squirmed under her cold golden gaze. “It was… an accident.”

“No. You wanted to kill. I could see it in your heart. You even thought about it while in the forest when I was injured.”

Montag rose abruptly. “ _You read my mind?_ ” It scared him more than it angered him. To have someone rummage in his brain… it made his skin crawl, he couldn’t imagine how a whole people could willingly choose to communicate like that!

“Humans are strange creatures. You always try to cloud your mind but are never very good at it. But you _wanted_ to kill me, and you wanted to kill me even when your leader told you not to.”

Montag snarled and stomped out of the chamber. Naméchi turned around to look at him.

“Even now you want to kill me, you are so easy to read.”

“ _Stop reading my mind!_ ” Montag screamed and spun around to her. He puffed his chest, straightened his back and looked down his nose at her, and approached her slowly. The Daughter of the Abyss didn’t blink as he leaned onto the ridge of the wooden tub and looked down at her. He tried to not think about the talons on her hands, each about two inches long, or her fanged pointy teeth of which they still didn’t know whether either was venomous. 

“I am the only thing separating you from my mother, my _leader_. Do that again… and I will confirm her suspicions of you being a mer-witch.”

If he had hoped to intimidate her, he was failing at it. Naméchi raised a brow ridge at him and instead of breaking eye contact, she put her hands on the ridge as well, missing Montag’s hands by the width of a hair and pulled herself up, balancing with her tail to not let the wooden tub topple over. It was a remarkable feat how she raised her naked torso out of the water. 

Montag looked down her body for a second, while her hands had been bound she would hold them on her injury and thus cover herself, the cold of the Forest had gotten to her, and in the tub, only her head, neck, and the tip of her fin wouldn’t be submerged by water. 

Her brown skin didn’t look scaly like that of a fish, but rather just like a human. He thought whether she would feel warm or cold to the touch.

The gills on her lower ribs were calmly closing and opening. She was in complete control of herself.

“Go outside and tell her now. See what happens then. You cannot scare me.” None of the hair-like appendages moved now but laid motionless on her shoulders and down her back.

Montag frowned. For a heartbeat he thought about actually doing it, running to Morga and telling her everything.

He spun on his heel and turned away, throwing the curtain that concealed the Daughter of the Abyss’s prison from their sleeping quarters to one side as he left her behind. He frowned when he felt a stirring down his breeches and shook himself before leaving to the training grounds.

When he came back four hours later when the sun was setting, he had a piece of raw deer meat with him. Estrid had brought some game home last night and while she wasn’t looking he had snatched a piece. 

Naméchi was, as he expected, awake, and glared at him when he entered her small sanctum. There wasn’t the same disgust in her eyes as there had been when he brought the dried meat, so that was a plus.

She took with after brief hesitation, regarded it, and then _tore_ into it with her sharp teeth, ripping chunks off and swallowing them without chewing. Montag sat down in front of her but tried to not look at what she ate - the way blood ran down her chin and neck made him feel a way he wouldn’t know how to describe. 

“Don’t make too much of a mess, otherwise I’ll need to change your water.”

Naméchi didn’t reply, in fact, she didn’t even look at him as he spoke, so busy was she devouring her meal.

“We prefer living creatures though," she said when she was done.

He himself had killed countless animals during his hunt but the thought of _eating_ one while it was still alive… he shuddered.

“Humans don’t do that. We eat meat, be it dried or smoked, plants and fruits.”

“Is that all your people do? Hunt, eat and sleep?”

“No, no no no. We also pillage our neighbors on the odd occasion, the weaker tribes of the South.”

Naméchi raised a brow ridge. “So you’re warriors?”

Montag grinned. “Yeah, you can say that again, and I am the best among them! That’s why you don’t need to be scared of anyone trying to hurt you because I am here to protect you.”

“Thank you. But why not tell your mother I mean no harm?”

Montag bit his lip. Morga wouldn’t listen to him and she would much less listen to Namenchi.

“She is very stubborn.”

Namenchi frowned. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it again, seemingly pensive.

“How did she come to be your leader?”

Montag shrugged. “She simply is the strongest there is.”

“But you said you are the strongest warrior.”

“That _is_ very true _but_ I am only her heir — even if I am already a man, and she is only an old woman, but she is strong… in a different way than I am,” He said contemptuously and began sharpening his dagger with a flintstone.

“Has it always been like that?”

“As far as I remember, yes.”

“My people have been very set in their path as well. Ever since the dawn of time, the Children of the Abyss had lived in our kingdom, the Trench, and my ancestors had always been loyal servants to the Rulers of the Trench. We have warriors, yes, but… we value cunning a lot more. In its own way, the Trench is… terrifyingly beautiful in a way only home can be.”

Naméchi sighed. It was a sad sound, and she sat deeper into the tub as if to disguise herself. Montag considered what he said next, but then took a leap of hope.

“The Scourge don't have writing like the people of the North in their cities and palaces do… but we have a way of remembering our history so future generations know about it. They are tapestries that are in my mother’s hall… I’m getting them.”

He felt the golden eyes on his back as he left the room, entered the hall, and carefully took off the moth-eaten rag depicting the Scourge’s way of life.

In the room with the Daughter of the Abyss, he laid it out to her and grinned as her eyes widened at the sight of it. 

“What are _those_?” She pointed with a claw at the various animals, the mammals that represented the other tribes of the South.

“Our neighbors. The other Southrons. And that,” he touched the intricate work showing a black stag beetle, “that’s my people.”

Naméchi regarded it and tilted her head. “It looks like a… crab.”

Montag laughed. “Crabs are not as hungry as the Scourge.” He sighed as well. “Just like them, we aren’t liked by the other clans, but because we focus on what _really_ matters, we also always survive.” He looked at Naméchi. “Eating or being eaten.”

…

Naméchi was, to his surprise, a very good listener. In fact, she seemed to downright enjoy the stories he told her, especially the ones that told of things long gone and of adventurers. It had been stories Montag himself had heard, be it from his parents, other elders, or the occasional merchants that traded with the Scourge once a blue moon. 

He would notice how she went very quiet when he was telling his stories, the times he was sure neither Morga nor Lutz were nearby he’d make an effort to make his narrative look as exciting as it sounded.

He had to admit — he very much liked the way Naméchi marveled at him during those sessions. His initial horror at her appearance had mostly subsided, she was still as alien and bizarre to him, especially when she ate the fresh meat he brought her daily.

“Do all Children of the Abyss look like you?” He asked her one evening, quietly as he knew Lutz was just two rooms away.

“Of course not,” Naméchi said indignantly. “Some have lights elsewhere on their bodies, like their hands or on their heads and others have skin so light that they shimmer and it reflects the light. Are all humans the same?”

“Pfft, no. The Crabmen beyond the Frozen Sea and our neighbors, the Kokhuri, have brown skin and dark hair, the Kerusksch of Void Lake are fair-skinned but with darker hair, and in Hjalle many people from many places live together.”

“I would’ve never thought there to be so many differences amongst humans… I think it is quite beautiful.” Naméchi said as she looked at him. One of her cranial appendages gently swayed on its own, and again Montag wanted to ask her what the movements meant.

  
  


The more she in turn told him about the Trench caused a dark fascination to spark within him. It sounded like a place so very unnatural that he really did have hard times imagining life there — but after all, was a life on the surface, the life Montag led, not so very bizarre to someone like Naméchi as well?

“ _Underwater volcanoes_? You gotta be pulling my hair.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest but Naméchi’s cranial appendages merrily twitched. 

“Why should I? They’re dangerous places as well, the water around them hotter than a summer night near the coast, and still some go there to hunt for white crabs or sea feathers. Not my family though, we merely pay these hunters by allowing them to stay in our territory in the Trench.”

“You always mention your family but never… actually talk about them. What is your deal with them? Don’t they miss you, worry where you are?” 

Naméchi’s gills fluttered.

“I left on my own terms, with longing for the world and the desire to leave them behind — they aren’t kind or good people, that is known in all of the Trench, and being around them was unhealthy, almost sickening. I doubt they think about me at all, at least not my sisters, one with a heart colder than ice and the other who never takes anything serious at all. My cousin perhaps, kind and gentle as he is, but he is the only one. He gave me a shard of a rare blue coral when I left; I exchanged it for free passage through another Kingdom.”

…

His days were divided into sparring, hunting, eating, sleeping, and now spending more time with the Daughter of the Abyss than he would’ve ever thought he’d tolerate. 

But as a matter of fact, every night he laid down to get some rest, his thoughts drifted off to her, to his irritation at first and then to his liking. 

There was something about her… he wouldn’t know what or how to describe it but her serenity and subtle amusement were most comforting to him. If this was the way the _näck_ charmed their victims into coming into their waters to abduct them, he could see how it worked out. 

It might really be the magic of the merfolk that made Naméchi so interesting in his eyes, made him feel like no one ever had made him feel before.

One morning when on hunting duty, he seriously considered just catching a snow bunting or a brambling to bring to her until he remembered he would most likely have to watch her as she ate it, and let go of the idea immediately, but the fact that he wanted to… perhaps he was being enthralled into her spell without him noticing at all?

…

When on the moonless night he went to change the water of the wooden tub, like he did every evening, he shook his head when she wanted to heave herself out and instead bent over to her, reaching into the cold water and lifting her out. 

Naméchi gasped and held onto him tightly, her claws digging into his arm and shoulder as he carried her to the spot where he usually sat when ‘guarding’ her, a bunch of skins so sitting on the floor wouldn’t be too uncomfortable.

Her eyes searched his face as he held her in his arms and didn’t leave when he gently laid her onto the furs, and still, when he left with the tub he felt her eyes burn into his back. A part of him felt embarrassed by it, the other… was unbelievably smug.

The black scales he found at the bottom of the empty tub did unsettle him though. Hasn’t she healed herself and was feeling better by now?

When he brought the tub back, he considered asking her about her well-being but as he picked her up again, the weight of her body in his arms and how her claws scraped through the clothing against his skin. He didn’t want to unsettle her, and if there was more the next couple of days, he would approach the issue.

…

“Do you know what the _näck_ actually do with the people they abduct?” Montag had positioned himself in the one spot in the room where the sun shone directly on him, knowing that being basked in light delivered a very flattering image.

By the way Naméchi watched him he knew she must be thinking the same. 

“I think they simply kill them — which is quite unsettling if you ask me. Our kind rarely sees humans but when we do… it is most often night, because we only come to the surface when the sun’s gone, and their ships have been wrecked. We tend to leave them to their destiny, there is nothing we can do after all.”

Montag frowned. That seemed… very cruel in its indifference but she was right; there was probably nothing they could do out in the open with a human.

“The elders say that the _näck_ lure young people to the water with the promise of teaching them to swim like fish… so that is completely made up as well? You _can_ do magic, so I assume something like this has to be possible in a way.”

„I do not know about them and their magic, but yes… us mer-folk are capable of this, but it’s a power we very rarely use, if ever,”, she sighed deeply and absentmindedly caressed the closed-up wound on her shoulder. Montag watched her as she did so; over the last three days he kept on finding more of her scales in the water. Was she getting ill? He hoped not; the moon was already growing and it would take little more than a week until it was full - he preferred to not think about what would happen then. 

“There was once a ship, it sank in the middle of a night when some of my kind had gone to the Surface like they always would when the moon wasn’t to be seen. My sister Saloy had saved one of the passengers, a woman, with a kiss that gave her a precious gift: the ability to live underwater as freely as we do. A transformation, an aid to adapt to be able to survive in the sea.

My sister took her to live with us, but she did not like the trench. Our world is too different from the surface; she thought it too dark, cold, and depressing, and she missed the sunlight and the warmth it has - but most of all she missed being fully human. Eating our food made her ill and she was very miserable with us even though those of us who didn’t dislike humans took great care of her. 

She didn’t last very long on her own after she left us and Saloy was very heartbroken for a long time.”

Naméchi looked at him. “There is no place for your kind in the Trench, or the Sea at all — just like there is no place for my kind on the Surface, even though we are more durable up here in comparison.”

Montag slid closer to her. “Has any of your kind ever been to the Surface, like you are?”

“No, never. And if then we don’t know of them. We keep to ourselves and shy away from the coast. The Children of the Reef have a strange soft spot for humans but none of us would ever dream of leaving their realm.”

“But being here is affecting you.” It was a statement, not a question. His gaze traveled to the scar, and she covered it with her hand. 

“It’s nothing,” she was quick to say. “that I feel unwell is only natural. The light affects me, I’m not used to breathing air and this air is too warm and dry.”

He reached out hesitantly, Naméchi watched his hand, suddenly very tense.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Naméchi? I want to keep you safe.” His hand hovered over her head, the appendages were gently swaying. 

“You know there is only one way.”

“And you know I can’t do that, but _please_ , let me do something for you _now_.”

Naméchi’s eyes widened and she blinked. “Whatever you’re thinking — don’t. It would… be a curse instead of the blessing you think of.”

“Does it have to be any human or just witches?” He didn’t want her to be miserable, or to _die_ before the full moon: what better solution to not have her be a mer-witch anymore? She had already survived so long here, and she said her kind was durable.

If she were to stay with the Scourge… Montag would help her. He would be her protector, her hero. If she were to grow melancholic or bored with life here and wanted to leave, he’d accompany her — he always wanted to see the world, he _knew_ he was destined for greater things than just being subservient to his mother. 

And maybe Naméchi would learn to love this world just as much as she loved the Sea.

“It’s not just a kiss, Montag.” The Daughter of the Abyss said, and Montag got goosebumps at the way she pronounced his name; hard and rough, but also sweet and soft. “It’s about the _intent_. It’s about… giving a part of yourself to someone else, willingly and unconditionally — even when they might reject it at some point and will themselves to die.”

He shook his head. “No, I _know_ you won’t do that. I could help you with life as a human, and protect you from the others should they want to harm you — no one dares to mess with me!”

Naméchi shook her head. “I have no place in this strange world - I would abhor the light, not stomach your dead food and miss the feeling of swimming like a fish in depths no human could ever dream of reaching.” She gently touched his hand and Montag felt his face heat up.

“Even if I do appreciate the gesture.”

For a heartbeat, Montag considered kissing her, just for the sake of it, of knowing how a mer-witch’s kiss felt like if it was as intoxicating as the Elders had always advised them off. Naméchi was caressing him, sharp talons drawing ghosts of circles on the back of his hand. 

A sudden noise in the hall broke the moment between them. Naméchi let go of him as if she had been burnt and settled almost completely into the tub. Montag stood up immediately and just in time when Morga threw the tapestry to the side and watched him expectantly.

“Monty, you’re needed. Go to Esgrid, I’ll take over guard duty.” 

“Ma, I think—”

“ _Now_ , Montag.”

His shoulders slumped ever so slightly but he passed by his mother. When he looked back, he saw Naméchi resurfacing from the tub and watching Morga with curious indifference. Their gazes met and her “hair” twitched once, then continued swaying in a non-existent breeze when Montag turned his back on her, but his heart was racing nevertheless.

  
  


Later at dinner, which he shared with his parents, Morga was in a bad mood, if it would get even worse.

“The _näck_ is getting weak. Doing the sacrifice today would be optimal, it could be that their state deteriorates over the next three days and they are too weak a feast for the Serpent to accept. Does Esgrid have the tinctures?”

“Yes, Ma, but do you think they’ll work? I mean… they’re not even human, and their own, err, goo, was more useful in healing them.”

Morga frowned. “We need to try our best. If the _näck_ want to wander into our rivers, then we chase them back with the Serpent’s help.”

“Ehhh, have the _näck_ attacked us as of lately? It could be just a mistake.” Montag said hesitantly and grinned at both of his parents in what he hoped was a convincing smile. Both Morga and Lutz stared at him.

“Monty, they’re probably just holding still because one of their own was taken. If they’re a closely-knit community, that’s only understandable.” Lutz considered and took a deep sip of met.

Morga nodded as she also drank. “I _know_ they can speak, so they _will_ tell me about their chieftain’s plan or suffer the consequences.”

“I told you, Ma, they might not be a _näck_ after all — have you looked at them? They look freaky and weird, not like the beautiful seducers they’re said to be.” He thought of Naméchi’s flowing ‘hair’, her golden eyes, and the feeling of her claws scraping against his skin as he carried her.

His mother scoffed. “They have _some_ magical abilities, I can sense that, and so can Jæger. It is ancient magic, bound to water and darkness, so they are out of their element here with it being summer and far from the river.” She took a bite of the dried meat, chewed on it, and swallowed. “But they will be enough to make a good sacrifice.”

…

Montag woke up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. He looked around whether Pa was awake and found him snoring on the floor next to him, peeled the furs off his body and shivered when the comparatively cold air in the hall hit his naked torso. Only dressed in his breeches he walked on his tip-toes past his father’s sleeping form and with as little noise possible shoved the tapestry aside to enter the room in which Naméchi was resting. He stared at her. He saw her, for the first time, in the complete dark, and his jaw dropped.

The appendages that grew from her head, were floating in the hair, defying the force that kept everything on the ground as if it was nothing, and the bulbs at the end were glowing like fireflies in the moor during summer. 

He shook himself, remembered he actually came here to do something, and walked over to her. Naméchi’s eyes were closed, she was sleeping peacefully when Montag reached out to the nearest glowing bulb and gently touched it.

The Daughter of the Abyss twitched so violently that water splashed outside of the wooden tub and she snarled, fangs bared and talons ready to strike.

“Shh, shhh! It’s just me.” Montag whispered urgently and lowered himself to her level. 

“What is it? Why are you here? What did you—”

“I didn’t know your… hair or whatever could do that. It looked beautiful.”

Naméchi averted her eyes. “It’s our state of hunting, we hold very still and wait for prey to touch up. We can hunt even while resting.” A small smile formed on her lips. “The fish also think it beautiful.”

“Here’s how this is going: I either help you get back to the river or… I give you my humanity. That’s the only two ways to save you, Naméchi, and I don’t want you to—” He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and cleared his throat. “I can’t stand the thought of you being harmed while I could prevent it.”

“Why now?”

“Because my mother thinks you’re a _näck._ It doesn’t matter that you aren’t, she believes that you being a mer-witch is enough to appease Vlagnagog for him to destroy the _näck_ , even if they did nothing wrong.”

Naméchi paled. He had told her about Vlagnagog of course, just like she had told him about the strange pantheon of abstract concepts her people worshipped, but he had avoided until now to tell her that _she_ was one of these planned sacrifices. 

“This is madness.”

“My mother is a stubborn woman, she won’t see reason, that’s why we need to do this _now_!” 

“I will _not_ let you do this — it’d be suicide.” 

Montag rolled his eyes. “Fine, if you’re so insistent on it; let me help you back to the river.”

Naméchi perked up. “How far is it?” 

“Doesn’t matter, two hours or so.”

“How are you going to get me out of here?” Her voice was inquisitive and she watched him with uncertainty.

“Argh, I don’t know! We gotta be quiet, everyone’s asleep. Let’s not worry about that right now, if I carry you and we don’t make a sound we can make it out of here and then leave the village.”

“You haven’t thought this through at all, what if your mother catches you?”

“She won’t, and if… it doesn’t matter.”

“It _does —_ and if you come home in the morning and I am gone? She will be terribly angry at you.”

“Yes, but _you will be free_.” Montag had to hiss in order to not raise his voice.

Naméchi watched him with wide eyes. “But at the cost of your well-being.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, no it won’t; not to me.” She leaned towards him, putting her hands on his arms and caressing them. “If your disobedience causes you to lose your life, I couldn’t live with this.” The webbing between her fingers didn’t feel like anything human but made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he got goosebumps all over his body. 

“You won’t have to worry about that. Remember, I’m the strongest warrior of the Scourge.” He gasped when Naméchi laid her hand on his chest, right above his beating heart.

“Don’t sacrifice your life for me, Montag. It’s not worth it.”

He shook his head, took her other hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it.

“You’re worth it. You’re worth it for _me_.”

She could remain here with the Scourge, if he was her protector no one would dare to say anything, if she was his woman… she would be equal to him.

She was a hunter, she would fit in just fine, and if they wanted to leave together that was always an option as well.

“Let me help you. I-” 

The tapestry was swung to the side and both Montag and Naméchi gasped in shock when Morga stood in the frame, spear in her hand and her face as if it was set in stone.

He didn’t have time to push Naméchi away from him, instead, he clung to her, held her, it was a futile effort to deny everything now.

“What. In. The name of the Serpent is going on here? Explain yourself, Monty. _Now_.” His mother’s voice was hard as steel. 

“Ma, Naméchi—”

“ _Naméchi_? The creature has a _name_ ?” She twirled the spear in her hand and pointed it at them. “Step aside, boy.”

“No.”

“Fine. You.” Morga’s colorless eyes pierced through Naméchi. “Playing dumb isn’t going to save you anymore. _Speak_.”

Naméchi defiantly raised her head. 

“Go ahead. She will understand.”

“ _Montag._ ”

“You’re wrong about me,” Naméchi said. Her voice was velvety yet sharp like the weapons Montag would clean in his free time, and she leveled Morga with a cool gaze. 

“I don’t belong to this tribe of mer-folk who your monster terrorizes, and keeping me a prisoner was wrong and vile. Let me go right now, and don’t condemn your son for your own crimes.”

Morga narrowed her eyes at the Daughter of the Abyss. “Your kind lie as easily as we breathe for air. And _you_ are _lying_ , mer-witch.”

“I am _not_ , you’re either too stubborn to realize you made an error or you refuse to see reason in your hatred.”

“ _Hatred?_ I do this to keep my people alive.” Morga snarled. 

“Will a sacrifice bring them back?” 

Morga’s gaze traveled to Montag. “So you told her _everything_. You stupid, stupid boy,” She sighed and shook her head. 

“Yes, I do know everything, about this creature your kind worships. I’ll make you a deal: if the Serpent of Destruction sees me as guilty, you may proceed however you desire. If not… I gain my freedom and can return to the sea as it pleases me.”

Montag stared at her. If she considered his kiss of life suicide, then _this_ was voluntarily walked into the flames without hesitation.

Morga let out a loud laugh. 

“You sure like a dangerous bargain, girl. I accept.”

Montag’s head was spinning. There was _no way_ Vlagnagog would ever let her go; even though she was right, the Serpent of Destruction would not be one to deny a feast.

“You will see that I’m right, Morga of the Scourge.”

The look Morga gave him made Montag shrink, it was the _exact_ look she always wore when she claimed to not be angry but just disappointed.

“You are a fool, Montag Morgasson. Be lucky that you won’t be the one paying for your mistakes, like always.”

With these words, she spun around on her heel and left her son and her prisoner on their own.

…

It wasn’t only Morga and him who went to the round and wide clearing the following night; Pa, Aksel, Thrya and Gorm also accompanied them. For whichever reason Montag couldn’t guess her mother’s strongest warriors had joined them, he knew the summoning of the Serpent didn’t need more than one person so it couldn’t be that. 

Thyra and Gorm were carrying Naméchi’s body, one by her hands, the other by her tail. There was no fear in her eyes or her face, no twitching or floating of her cranial appendages, only calm serenity.

It was a stark contrast to Montag, who felt as if cold sweat was running down his forehead in streams and soaking his clothes.

He knew that if Vlagnagog would attack her, he would fight, which might be one of the reasons why the hunters were there as well — to hold him back should he act foolishly. The other option was to simply look away while the Serpent feasted on her — an option that wasn’t a choice to him. 

The clearing around the hole in the snow smelt of sulfur, the air made his air burn and he covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve. 

Aksel pulled out his flint and after two tries sparks flew, lighting the clearing with flames that didn’t radiate any heat. The fire traveled and closed around them, trapping them in a wide circle that couldn’t be escaped until the summoner themselves broke it. 

As Morga took off her boots, Montag made his way to Naméchi. 

“Get lost, Monty, let your mum do her thing.” 

“Stop me if you want to so badly, Gorm.”

He leaned over to Naméchi. “Whatever happens, I’ll protect you.”

The Daughter of the Abyss smiled. “That’s very sweet. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Thyra laughed. “Oh shit, Morga told me the mer-witch could speak, but she’s also _your girlfriend_? Too bad she’s gonna be Vlagnagog’s dinner soon enough.”

“Screw you too, Thyra.”

“Monty.” His father put a meaty hand on his shoulder. “Your Ma knows what’s best. You’ll see how she was right all along!”

Montag shook his head and Lutz’s hand off. As she stalked over his mother, he grabbed a dagger on Gorm's belt - one weapon was better than none and there was no other reason for the hunters to be here besides trying to keep him from lashing out. 

“Damnit, Monty, bring back the knife!”Gorm screamed but Montag had already reached his mother.

“Ma, I’m gonna tell you something _right now_ : if you really throw Naméchi into that pit—”

“You can’t change my mind, Monty. Don’t you see the bigger picture? The Serpent is going to protect us from her kind—”

“Her kind _lives in a trench_ , somewhere far from the coast in the deepest parts of the sea!” Montag exclaimed. 

Morga shook his head. “This _näck_ has wrapped you around her little finger with her mer-witchcraft, look at you: you are so ready to hurt us only to protect her.” She planted her naked feet in the grass. “If she is innocent, Vlagnagog will absolve her.”

“You know _exactly_ that the Serpent _won’t care_.”

Morga grimaced. “That is not our problem.”

“ _Godsdamnit._ ” Montag ran his hands through his hair and sank to the ground.

Aksel and Thrya carried Naméchi to Morga while Lutz bent over to pull his son up by his shoulders.

“Leave me alone, Pa!” Montag hissed and buried his face in his hands.

“What the hell?”

His mother’s whispered words made him freeze and look up. Aksel murmured something, hit his flint again, and added more sparks to the fire — to no effect.

Thyra cursed.

“Is something wrong?” Lutz asked and pulled his son up to his feet.

“Eh, just a moment,” Gorm said uneasily and looked at the flames. “Aksel, do something.”

“What, cut my soles as well? That’s not how a summons works, you do know that huh?” 

Someone cackled.

All of the Scourge looked at the Daughter of the Abyss who at first was just chuckling, then laughing so loud that it rang through the cleaning. Montag had never heard her laugh, and it was a sound like birdsong to him.

“You foul witch.” Morga sneered. “You knew this all along.”

“ _Yes, I did!_ ” Naméchi laughed. Both Aksel and Thyra looked at each other.

“What the hell are you talking about, mer-witch?”

“I am laughing because you put your faith in a monster you revered as a god without knowing that this creature has been _dead_ for a while now.”

Both Lutz and Montag looked at each other, Thyra and Aksel cursed in unison and Gorm groaned. Only Morga didn’t react but merely eyed Naméchi who was grinning at her.

“How?”

“The _näck_ told me about a creature that would hunt them, until one day it didn’t anymore. They ventured into his cavern deep beneath the Earth where it connects to the sea and found nothing but blank bones and the stench of its malice among all the sacrifices you made him. When was the last time any of the mer-people have attacked you?”

Morga frowned even deeper.

“Be lucky I am _not_ a _näck_ , Morga, leader of the Scourge. If you had trapped one of theirs, they would’ve not hesitated to rain retribution down on you.”

“But you did speak with them.”

“Of course! We are all mer-folk after all, and the sea is vast but it is the same sea after all.”

Morga scoffed. “Your treachery won’t be forgotten, mer-witch. Cheating in a bargain and enchanting one of your own with your magic to get him on your side—”

“A bargain that was tilted to benefit you if the Serpent had been alive. It would’ve eaten me regardless of my innocence or not for it was known for its endless hunger. As for the enchantment…” She looked at Montag, “you are well-versed in magic; I can feel that. Look closer and see whether he is truly bewitched - my magic is different than yours, but you will recognize it anyway.”

Morga crossed her arm. “That is up for me to decide.” 

“Fine, but we had a bargain. Do you intend to keep your end of it? If you want me to, I can speak to the _näck_ and tell them to stop abducting your youths — there is no reason for conflict between your peoples, especially if innocents could get hurt.”

For a few moments, no one said anything and the only noise on the clearing was the cracking of the flames.

Then Morga sighed. 

“If you are seen again by any of my hunters or _me_ , don’t expect any mercy.”

“I don’t expect such a thing from you, and I have no need to remain here; I have the whole world in front of me.”

Morga closed her eyes briefly, but Montag knew his mother: she might not like it but she would stick to her word.

“Thrya, Gorm, bring her to the river. I don’t wish to see this creature around for a moment longer.”

Before the two hunters could move, Montag left his father behind and walked up to them.

“Let me do that.”

“Monty. _Stay back_.”

“Ma, I’m fine.” He said and moved to pick up Naméchi by himself. Both hunters let him do it.

“God _damnit_ , Montag.” Morga moved to grab her spear.

“If you uphold your bargain, why shouldn’t I?” Naméchi asked. Morga froze, for a moment she seemed to balance the options and then sighed. She didn’t speak but the look she gave her son said more than would ever be put into words.

  
  


When Montag and Naméchi left the clearing, he could feel the eyes of his parents and the other Scourge in his back but compared to the weight in his arms that was laughably unimportant to her.

They walked through the flames unscattered and into the forest. 

“That was… very clever, I don’t think I would’ve thought to gamble like that and keep my poker face on,” Montag admitted and grinned.

“I told you, my people value cunning above all. I learned from some of the best.” Naméchi replied, with considerable and almost uncharacteristic smugness in her tone. 

“That you did.” Montag grinned at her, but as he did it faded. “But still… This means the end, for good. Ma might’ve let you go now but I’d do what she tells you and don’t come back.”

“Well.” Naméchi began and caressed his face with a talon. “That doesn’t have to mean the end. If you ever wish to travel the world… there is a chance, however small, that we will see each other again.”

Montag considered her words. “But you will be in the depths of the sea — too far from any coast.”

“You could travel by ship, and by night. With enough luck, I will be there as well.” 

It was one of these things people just said to each other, he knew that. Even though he also knew that from Naméchi it was meant earnestly.

“Promise me one thing.”

He stopped in the middle of the forest, searched her face as he held her. 

“Do tell. I think one promise in return for saving a life is more than fair.”

Montag gulped. “If I am ever on a ship, and this ship sinks, and you find me… promise me. I’ll gladly accept a life among the merfolk, however different it is if I can spend it with you.”

Naméchi looked at him as if she was waiting for him to take back his word, but when nothing came, she nodded slowly.

“I promise you.”

Instinctively Montag leaned down to her and closed his eyes. He felt her shift as well, the arms she had wrapped around his neck moved until she cradled his face with one hand and gently scraped his throat with the other one. 

When their lips met, he figured that while at first, they tasted of salt water, there was something that vaguely reminded him of smoke and fire.

Perhaps underwater volcanoes were real after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest; while proofreading this, at some point I went "Sooo, is this Lucio aka Montag OOC or nah?" but at the same time, I'm glad to have gotten it out of my system and am happy enough with it that I want others to read it as well. So to quote an old saying from my mid-teenage years: YOLO.


End file.
